The race series we’d taken the boat up to Pittwater for had all gone well. Late in the series, Adam and I were sharing a few drinks with some of the crew around our age from other boats.

Somehow we’d got into a sort of truth or dare game, which in turn led to a question about your kinkiest sexual fantasy. With a few drinks under my belt, I’d answered honestly; even added more
salacious detail in response to questioning. It wasn’t anything like the kinkiest fantasy revealed that night, but then I suppose I’ll never know whether the others were actually played out.

By the next morning, I’d forgotten all about my indiscretion, never guessing what would follow.

A week later, with the series over, it was time for the boat to be brought back home. Unsurprisingly, Adam and I were more than willing to do it. A very early bus up from the city found us prepping
the boat for departure just as the day started to warm up; around 9.

A little bit to tease Adam, and probably more than a little bit as a mild up yours in response to the various annoying pretensions of a Yacht Club with the word “Royal” in its name that had
irritated us during the series, I found myself reversing the boat out of its pen dressed in nothing more than my tiny blue bikini and a large white sunhat. So I’d substituted a good lathering of
sun screen for my normally more protective clothing.

Don’t try and question the logic of flashing a not unattractive bikini body around the club as a way of punishing them; quite apart from the scarcity of members who actually were there to see it at
that time on a mid-week morning. There is none; or at least none that can be explained. You have to have suffered through the minor slights and the petty rules and their application during the last
few weeks to understand the reaction.

But there is also a satisfaction in handling, and being seen to handle well, a large yacht in a tight marina situation; more so when you’re young, female, reasonably attractive and blonde. Being
dressed in a minimalist bikini just added to the up yours factor. Anyhow, Adam was there and the bulge in his pants signalled he wasn’t complaining.

I thought he might have wanted to stop at the little beach near Longnose Point we’d had such fun at last time; but he seemed keen to get to sea. Pity I thought. There’s some good beaches in Sydney
Harbour too, but none private enough to get away with what we’d done last time on that one.

And so, in a light but slowly building Nor’Easter I motored down Pittwater until Adam hoisted the main near Barrenjoey Heads. Then turning seawards, we eased the main, rolled out the genoa and
polled it out with the spinnaker pole, setting a course far enough out from the coast to easily clear Long Reef.

The last few weeks with Adam had been torrid. He had his own house and, apart from the time spent racing the yacht, my parents had barely seen me during that period. The only reason we hadn’t got
down to another root on the yacht while it was still in the Marina Berth, instead of just setting sail, was that we’d had one when we’d first woken up that morning. But it was all about far more
than the sex, good though that was.

That connection we’d made on the first day was still going strong. It was like we never ran out of things to say to each other or laugh together about. Sometimes serious, sometimes verbal games and
sparring, it was never vicious or trying to get one up on the other. We were co-conspirators in a most delicious love affair.

And the sex?

Like wow! I thought good sex was where you had a fair chance of having an orgasm at the end of it. Adam had changed the rules. I’d come three times during our love making that morning. And it
wasn’t because it was some marathon session with Adam going through multiple refractory periods. It was a quickie before we got up. That was in the ten minutes between first penetration and Adam
blowing his load.

Why?

I can only start to guess. Yes he had a good technique. He cared and tried. But so did other guys. It seemed that when you added that to something in our emotional connection it just blew my mind;
and all my sexual organs too. Adam reckons he’s had other girls have multiple orgasms occasionally, but I’m completely over the top. But we both like it. It really turns him on when I’m going off,
so to speak.

The sail had been going normally until we were several miles out at sea; me on the helm and Adam attending to the various sail trims. Then he disappeared below, reappearing dressed in nothing more
than a tattered pair of long white pants with the waist held up by a tied length of rope and the ends of the legs somewhat shredded. He looked straight out of some Captain Hornblower saga. Still,
even as he dropped another bundle of white cloth on the front of the cockpit seat, I didn’t really twig that he was up to something.

Suddenly he rolled up the genoa. When I asked him what he was doing, he just told me I’d see soon enough before disappearing forward where he lashed the still hoisted spinnaker pole to the rolled
up foresail. The he came back to the cockpit. Separating the white material from something rolled up inside it, he handed it to me and told me to turn on the auto pilot and put it on.

Now Adam’s not in the habit of telling me what to do (he knows better than that); so I knew something was afoot. I held up the garment. It was an old tattered business shirt with both the collar
and cuffs cut off. The buttons had also been removed; the front roughly sew together. If there had ever been a breast pocket, it also was gone, as was the bottom hem.

I put it on over my bikini. Adam came around behind me, put his hand up inside it to undo the strings of my bikini top and pulled it out from under the loosely fitting shirt.

I was starting to be a bit overcome by curiosity.

“What are you up to?”

Bending down to the package that had been wrapped up in the shirt, Adam picked up a roll of paper, stood in front of me, unrolled it and in a formal voice, read from it.

“Emily Franklin. You are charged with failing to steer a straight course, for which you will be punished with 25 lashes. How do you plead?”

“Aren’t you meant to ask how I plead before pronouncing sentence?”

“That will be 30 lashes for insubordination. Proceed forward for the sentence to be carried out.”

Adam pointed along the side deck. At last aware of what the game was, I complied; Adam following me after picking up the remaining bit of the package that had been wrapped in the shirt. When I
reached the mast he told me to stop. Then lifting each arm up to the spinnaker pole he tied my hands to it.

There was only once he fell out of character. Although the bindings were quite firm, he put in my hands the loose ends of the rope, telling me they were slip knots.

“If I go overboard, just pull these to release yourself. Otherwise I’m in for a very long swim and the yacht’s going to be sailing off to Antarctica with you still lashed like that. It’s going to
raise some eyebrows with whoever eventually finds you.”

And then.

“It’s time for the sentence to be carried out.”

I felt his hands on the back of my neck. Next thing I know there’s a slight tug on my body as the back of the shirt is torn open for its full length. His hands caressed my back as he pushed the
shirt open to expose the bare flesh. Suddenly his front is pushed hard against me as his erection slips between my legs; touching up a bud already sensitised and aroused by the game being played
out. I look down to where it projects out from my crotch. The bell is hard and swollen and already dripping pre-cum.

Now I can feel the application of his strength as he tears apart each sleeve of the shirt, allowing it to be pulled right off me. I’m naked except for my bikini bottoms.

He withdraws, letting his erection slide arousingly through my crotch. There’s a rustle of something behind me. I feel something soft flop against my back just under my armpit and whatever it is
wraps itself around my front and across my chest. I look down. It’s an imitation cat of nine tails; multiple soft, flattened (core removed) ropes which I assume must be bound together with a
handle, absolutely soaked in what the splatter on my lips tells me is chocolate sauce.

They’ve spread out across my breasts; two of the ropes laying across the nipple. He pulls it away slowly, the ropes slipping across the nipple raising them to a jutting hardness and leaving a thick
smear of chocolate on everything they’ve touched.

The next stroke comes around my hips and across the front of my bikini pants. Pulling away more quickly this time, there’s a second stroke around my hips, slightly lower. This wraps itself between
my legs. As Adam pulls it away he must have lifted the handle up. Instead of following its inward path, it slides slowly up through my crutch, the friction from the chocolate sauce causing it to
push the pants firmly between my lips. He jerks it, pushing it in deeper without accelerating the withdrawal.

Hanging momentarily by my arms, I squirm at the stimulation of my now excited bud as it again leave a thick smear of chocolate sauce as he withdraws it across my lower stomach.

Encouraged, Adam repeats the movement; drawing from me an even more pronounced reaction and a moan.

Two strokes across my breasts and nipples follow before another two across my hips. Then he repeats the cycle on the other side of my body. My chest, lower stomach and the front of my bikini pants
are soon covered in chocolate and I’m writhing in excitement. There’s something about having a fantasy fulfilled that enormously sexy.

But there’s something missing. He’s being incredibly gentle. These are flops, not in any way whips. I’m no masochist but we’re not fully into the fantasy script yet.

“Make it sting my back a bit; a bit like a wet towel.”

Adam has a go at brushing it across my back instead of wrapping it around me. But that’s what it is, a brush.

He knows he didn’t get it and tries again. Still he’s being reticent. I understand; that’s good in a guy, but he still knows he’s not getting it.

The third time, whether through luck or design, he gets it; a sting across my back as he flicks the wet ends of the ropes across it. I wince physically and audibly.

The next one is back across my hips and through the groin. He’s getting good at using the jerking movement to maximise the stimulation from each flop. Again I squirm and moan about with the
pleasure.

Then across the back again; another sting, another wince. My lack of further instruction tells him he’s getting it right.

He continues to alternate; repeating an action if it misfires – one across the back failing to induce a wince or one across the hips failing to lodge through my groin. I suspect he’s starting to
enjoy it.

He’s getting more reaction from me from each stroke. I know this is wrong. But I also know the growing reaction isn’t just from the direct stimulation of the groinal flops. The pain, gently and
lovingly applied though it is, is adding to it. As I tighten my muscles and squirm about with each back sting, I’m adding to a growing sense of my impending orgasm. In a way, that was always the
fantasy; maybe even more so because I never imagined Adam could achieve what he is with the grional flops.

He adds a breast flop into the rotation; interspersing them randomly into what is for the most part still alternate back and groin strokes.

The front and crotch of my bikini is now covered in chocolate. It’s sticking to the whip like you couldn’t imagine. Adam scores a particularly effective stroke that wraps right through my crotch
and up my butt. He jerks the whip; pulling it back without achieving any release of it, just pulling everything up into my crease and sliding it against a very swollen bud.

I squirm about with the agony of an orgasm that’s nearly there but can’t quite get out. He jerks again and I feel ready to explode. With the third jerk I find my release, crying out louder than I
would have if hit full on with a real whip while initially throwing my hips forward but ending up lifting my legs off the ground and swivelling my bent knees from side to side as I hang by my arms.
He pulls the whip away, causing a momentary jolt of extreme stimulation that sends me into another spasm.

I’ve barely got my feet back onto the ground before I call out for him to whip my back.

“But you’ve already been whipped 34 times. You were only meant to get 30.”

“It was only a guideline, just do it.”

He decides not to argue about movie quotes, stinging my back. I exaggerate the pain, sending a wave of tension down into a groin that still feels full and wanting more even if my clit feels
incredibly sensitive.

Twice I call “Again.” Adam’s detected a certain manic need in my voice and might even be hitting a bit harder. As I arch forward wincing with the third stroke, it suddenly turns into another
orgasm, the “Arrr” of exaggerated pain suddenly turning into a prolonged moan of pure bliss.

Finally I’m left dangling and momentarily weak. I’m not satisfied, nothing like it. But in my original fantasy the whipping was mere foreplay. I couldn’t have imagined it would be anything like it
was; but the best should be yet to come.

Adam detected the moment had arrived to put side the whip. As I hung there I suddenly felt his presence against my back, his tongue licking up some of the chocolate spread across it. He worked
across and under my right arm pit, heading towards my breasts; becoming more fastidious about clearing the skin of it as he approached the right orb.

Ignoring for a moment the nipple jutting out and intermittently brushing against the skin of his lips he cleansed the orb; circling the nipple as he did a pretty good job of sucking up the mess.
Only then did he address the nipple and the surrounding areola, assaulting it with a vigorous sucking and tongue action that leaves me squirming in heightened pleasure against him, smearing
chocolate against his chest.

He repeated the action on the left breast, circling around the orb before attacking the nipple; except this time I came with almost the first contact on the nipple; pushing my hips against his
chest as he knelt in front of me almost trying to rub my crotch against it as I groaned in pleasure. Unlike he does with my clit, Adam was unrelenting in continuing to stimulate my nipple;
prolonging the orgasm as I writhed against him. Only when he’d cleansed it did he stop.

It was my first ever nipple orgasm. I’d read about them, but until today didn’t think they were for me.

Deep in the recesses of my mind I had this uncomfortable feeling that I’d entered into some Faustian Bargain. Sex before Adam had always been a my turn, his turn, process in terms of orgasms; or
sometimes just his turn. We might have another session; but it was just that, dependent upon his refractory period; and that’s all I thought sex could ever be. Now with Adam it was like sex was one
long orgasmic experience; one following the other in a constant stream. It was fantastic, but what was the price I would have to pay?

In a way, my soul was the key to the bargain. Adam had certainly captured it- completely - as I think I had captured his. We just seemed made for each other. Time spent with him always seemed to
have me in this constant low level state of arousal; an almost uncomfortable state of fullness and desire just waiting to be unleashed. Even after we’d just had fantastic, exhausting,
multi-orgasmic, sex, I’d be trying to get to sleep already feeling randy and with a major ladyboner just from lying next to him.

Insatiable? I thought it was another silly erotic writing fantasy. Now I felt it; only the most torrid, sex capable of supressing my sense of need for just the shortest time.

The price would be paid if we ever broke up. I knew I’d be devastated; entering into a world of hurt I couldn’t and didn’t want to contemplate.

Momentarily distracted and only just over my nipple orgasm, I didn’t notice Adam had moved lower until I felt him sucking the chocolate from the corner of my bikini pants lying in the hollow of my
hips, just before the string tie. I looked down and maybe for the first time noticed the previously blue material was now entirely chocolate brown; as for that matter was my hip itself.

Adam worked across, slurping up the larger globs of chocolate until he reached the turn of my mons. There he took the whole quarter circle of it into his mouth, thrusting his tongue aggressively
into my crease, spreading the lips wide as he licked vigorously. Quickly finding my engorged bud, he sucked it, bikini pants and all, between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. Immediately I
was squirming and moaning, pushing my hips towards him as I felt myself on the verge of another orgasm.

Sensing that, Adam increased the stimulation, getting the reaction he sought as I cried out and came again, nearly knocking him overboard with the forward thrust of my hips. Quickly recovering,
Adam buried his head back in my crotch even as I continued to squirm in my orgasm, leaving alone for the moment a bud too sensitive for his touch as he licked down deeper into the core of my
womanhood. There, pushing his tongue, bikini pants and all, deeply into me, I had no doubt the chocolate he tasted was heavily tainted with the flood of my own body’s honey permeating the material.

Then he was back against my bud, quickly bringing me to another orgasm.

As I writhed against him, his body rose up against mine, his pants around his ankle, his manhood tall and hardened. In a flash he’d undone the tie side of my bikini pants, discarding them next to
the mast. With his hand guiding it, he thrust it directly into my womanhood even before my orgasm had finished, finding me wet and ready for him.

Uninhibitedly unleashing his own passion, he took me; hard and fast, his body jerking against mine.

Vaginal orgasms? Not me, not before anyway. I needed my clit stimulated in the process to make it work. Not this time. I don’t know what he was hitting, and I don’t know why. I don’t know where the
stimulation was based, but as I hung there, as he hammered away at me I came; orgasm almost immediately following orgasm for whatever time it took for him to find his own powerful release.

And then, maybe for the longest moment since this whole game had started, we were still. We stood there, his arms wrapped around me, his manhood still filling me, our bodies pressed together, his
head alongside mine. With my arms still tied to the spinnaker pole above my head, I was his plaything.

He brought his lips around to mine where our tongues wrestled before exploring deeply into each other’s mouths. Long blissful moments of passionate kissing followed.

Eventually I felt him soften and he withdrew.

With our hips still together, he bent his upper body into a s bend to kiss down my neck, cleaning up splatters of chocolate as he went, before lifting the orb of my right breast with his hands and
kissing and licking it again. He continued to lick up the residual chocolate while his lips showed an endless fascination with its flesh; now kissing the nipple, now kissing the top of it, now
burying himself in the cleavage between my breasts as he sought out splatters there.

Finally he took its hardened nipple into his mouth and started twirling around with his tongue as I laid my head back and moaned a gentle moan of pleasure. It was then I was touched by it. He’d
gone through the refractory process and his hardness had returned, the tip touching in the line of my crease. It surged; pushed backward as it sought out my warm wet void. It loitered there,
penetrating slightly to keep it in place.

It was like Adam was ignoring it. Still he was stimulating my nipple.

Then I felt the slightest jerk. It penetrated and withdrew to its previous holding position. Once, again a bit deeper. A third time a bit deeper still, all the while his head buried against my
breast. Was he testing my readiness? Teasing me? All I knew is that I was ready and teased.

Lifting his head he kissed me, penetrating deeper almost automatically as he stood upright again. Then, as our mouths locked, with a sudden jerk, he was fully in. His hands slid slowly down until
they cradled my butt, then further until they held my thighs.

He whispered into my ear –

“Hold onto the spinnaker pole.”

The hands on my thighs pulled upward, readjusting themselves to take my weight and wrap my legs around his hips. Taking a step backwards Adam had me laid out at an angle, a v forming where our
groins met. He thrust, doing that little circling motion he often finishes with. My clit was jammed hard against his groin and received the full benefit of the stimulation. By now I knew he always
tested his position; complete, non-reactive silence was dealt with by a readjustment, a moan with more.

Still, when I laid my head back and moaned it wasn’t manipulating the position; it was all real. A second thrust followed, this ended with a little mini double thrust and rub that did the same
thing as the circle; probably more comfortably for him, given much of the movement was generated by lifting and dropping my hips. More reaction from me.

Slowly at first and then progressive faster and harder he repeated the thrusts. Within three minutes I groaned out my first climax of this round. That encouraged him to go all the more
passionately. For a moment he brought me up short of the clit grind while the unbearable sensitivity of it settled down, all the while the angle of our bodies making his rigid shaft firmly rake the
length of the front wall of my womanhood as he continued thrusting. Then, when he thought it was time, he brought it crashing down and rubbing my clit with the double mini thrust again.

I always thought I didn’t have a g spot. Suddenly I discovered I did; the raking of the front wall triggering an orgasm that left me needing to tightly hold in an urgent need to pee. Now I was
being assaulted by my erogenous zones; multiple modes of stimulation keeping me near or going through almost a continuous stream of climaxes following climaxes; all accompanied by the sort of
noises and throwing about I’d told Adam weren’t part of my repertoire.

Adam was having trouble keeping my squirming body under control and himself balanced as his increasing loud grunting indicated the effort he had to put in to holding my weight while pounding away
at me. Then his grunting changed. He threw his head back and thrust hard; holding me there while he pumped out his seed, that baritone groan returning to accompany his performance.

The initial download complete, he stood there holding me, still shuddering with what I assumed were the last vestiges of his climax.

“Yea, right. We’ll book the boat out with your dad. What will we tell him we want it for?”

“What about ‘practicing traditional sailing skills.’”

Already Adam had picked up the mess that was my bikini bottom and the other bits of clothing and props lying about the foredeck, taking my hand as he walked aft. He led me to the stern, where he
lowered the swim platform while leaving the top lifeline in place. Then ducking down to the main head, he brought back some soap.

Adjusting the temperature of the cockpit shower, he started wetting me, caressing me as he soaped me down. Even my hair was sprayed with chocolate, so he needed to start there and work down. His
touch was magic. I’ve shared showers with boyfriends before, but none had the touch Adam did. Yes, he’s a guy so my breasts got more than a fair share of attention, as did between my legs, but he
was gentle, effective, seductive and very arousing in the way he went about it.

Then he picked up my bikini pants, turned the water to hot and rinsed most of the chocolate out of them too; just as well since I foolish didn’t have anything else to wear under the mini skirt I’d
be wearing home. He tied them to the rail to let them flap in the breeze as they dried.

I let him finish, admiring his naked body as he went about it, then took the shower head from him and washed him down too. By the time I finished he had a full on boner; hardly helped by the
attention I’d given it while showering him. But actually, he’d had that from about half way through the process of washing me.

On the spur of the moment I pushed his back against the steering wheel, bent his cock down to penetrate me and squeezing him as tightly as I could, gave him a climax to get it back under control;
stealing another for myself in the process.

By the time we finished, the chart plotter told us we were on the same latitude as Sydney Heads, but now far enough offshore that the land was only just visible. The Nor’Easter had been building
while we were fooling about and, even just under main, the boat was ripping along.

We gybed the boat and set course for the heads, moving fast on a beam reach as we stowed the pole and rolled out the geona. Still both naked, I steered the boat while Adam stood behind me with his
arms around my waist; the hardness pushing into my back showing any curative benefit of that last quick root had already worn off.

Land was soon getting closer. Shortly we’d have to get dressed and re-join the normal world. Still, you had to admit, it had been a pretty out of the ordinary trip. But it occurred to me, with dad
back on the boat tomorrow, we’d better not forget to hose down the deck when we got back!